


When an Angel Dreams...

by CasMayaSutra



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And Cat(s), Castiel Has a Guinea Pig, Castiel and Netflix, Castiel and fanfiction, Don't Judge Me, Fluff and Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, My First Fanfic, Plural, Post-Arc: Lucifer Possessing Castiel, Sam Ships It, That makes me happy, This didn't have a tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CasMayaSutra/pseuds/CasMayaSutra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer is expelled. Amara is gone. Cas is saved. The Winchesters believe they have earned a rest. But wait!</p><p>There are strange happenings in the bunker. It starts harmlessly enough! There's cats! And guinea pigs! And other things which are unexplained!</p><p>In the words of Kevin Tran: "What is happening?!!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first crazy attempt at actual honest to goodness writing - if you don't count the crazy shit I pulled in college. Tell me your thoughts so far. I predict 4-5 chapters max at this stage.
> 
> Did you laugh? giggle? snigger? groan? let me know in comments? 
> 
> If you want to recommend any particular fics you would like to see Cas read in this work, hit me up with a link in comms.
> 
> Fics that i refer to will be added in notes as I write them.
> 
> Fics referenced in this work:
> 
> Overture by alternaurora: http://archiveofourown.org/works/5488679/chapters/12681362

Dean heaves a sigh of relief as they enter the cavernous garage of the bunker. He glances once again in the rear view mirror – as he has a thousand times during the drive – to reassure himself that the angel, his best friend… _the idiot!_ is still in the back seat. He looks broken, battered, worse than something the cat dragged in, and yet Dean can’t help but feel elated. That they got him back. That they were able to save the one person who means the most to him… to them. He hopes that the end of the shit-storm that was Amara and Lucifer… Lustiel will give them some reprieve. Allow them to finally…finally let down their guard, be normal…well for a degree of normal anyway. 

Reigning in his thoughts, he turns off the ignition. Sam is already out of the car; stretching to remove the kinks from the gigantic monolith he calls a body. How can some one who survives on rabbit food be so goddamn huge is something he very much wants to ask that Creator who was AWOL when he sees him again – a scoff escapes his lips. Chuck. Chuck Almighty. Who woulda thunk it?

He looks back at Cas, who is still sitting in the car, nervously looking at Dean. As if waiting for instructions, or maybe permission.

Dean smiles reassuringly, “C’mon Cas! We’re home, buddy!” 

Cas returns a tired, but grateful smile, “Thank you, Dean.” He whispers.

 

************

 

They settle Cas in the room they prepared for him. Dean still thinks it isn’t enough, but Cas is looking around the room like a kid in a candy shop, who’s just been told he can have ANYTHING he wants. His face runs through a slew of emotions, surprise & joy give way to sadness, then guilt. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry!” He says, like he has been saying for the entire trip back to the bunker, and it breaks Dean’s heart.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Cas!” Dean tries to sound reassuring, but his voice comes out sounding gruff. “Why don’t you…um… get cleaned up, have a nice shower to relax? You remember how you like the water pressure?” He stumbles, as he remembers the last time Cas mentioned the water pressure…right before Dean asked him to… No. He is not going to let those memories ruin this.

“C’mon, I’ll give you something comfortable to change into after your shower.” Cas follows him to his room, and Dean chooses a pair of sweat pants and one of his soft band T-shirts and gives them to Cas. “Go on!” He says, nudging Cas towards the showers.

As he watches Cas trudge towards the showers, Dean feels a stab of guilt in his heart again. He thinks of all the times his actions have made this Angel, his angel, feel unwanted, expendable, a…a HAMMER. The irony is not lost on him as he remembers a sunny park bench and a proclamation “I am not, as you say, a hammer, Dean” and to prove that, the Angel of the Lord, Castiel, rebelled. Against millennia of conditioning. Against destiny. Against Heavenly purpose. He fell, he was tortured, he was killed…all in an attempt to prove to Dean that he was NOT a hammer…and Dean went right on ahead and made him feel that he was, after all, a hammer. A tool to be used. A hammer no longer wielded by the Heavenly Host, but by the Winchesters.

Dean resolves once again, as he has since they learned of Cas having said _Yes_ to Lucifer, to make sure that this time around, Cas knows that he is wanted, that he is needed, that he is loved (OK, let’s not get carried away, because he is after all Dean fucking Winchester, and DFW does do the L-word). Not as a tool but as family. Not as Castiel, Angel of the Lord but as Cas.

 

************

 

Over the next few days, Dean tries to help Cas settle into the routine of the bunker. He was never much of a talker, but he is even quieter. He avoids looking at Dean, and Dean misses the intense stare of those blue eyes…although he would never admit it, of course! Dean tries to talk to Cas a few times, but Cas excuses himself and goes to his room more often than not. Most days, Cas will emerge at meal times but then squirrel straight back to his room, and Dean is starting to get worried.

A memory rises from the recent past, Cas staring resolutely at the TV, as focused on the screen as if it was a mandate from the Heavenly Host, or even God Himself. He remembers with horror the time after Rowena’s spell, when Cas was alone in the bunker while they hunted. The constant Netflix obsession. The random comments about reality TV and _Orange is the New Black_. Signs of his emerging PTSD. Signs that Dean might have picked up on if he had stopped to notice. But there was the pressing matter of the Darkness, and the random cases that always managed to crop up at the worst of times, and Sam’s visions, and…well it’s a long bloody everlasting list.

Right on the heels of that flash of memory, comes what Crowley told him after they exorcised him from the Cas/Lucifer combo deal. How he found Cas sitting in a simulation of the bunker’s kitchen, watching TV. WATCHING TV AGAIN!

Dean groans in annoyance. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! We had to go and put a TV in his room…with bloody Netflix!” 

He rushes to the library to have certain choice words with Sam about that.

 

************ 

 

Cas emerges from the shower, still puzzled at Dean’s insistence that he have a shower right now, when Cas wanted nothing more than to go back to his room after breakfast. They had added a new season of _The Jenny Jones Show_ and he couldn’t wait to find out what new human drama was being played out. He found himself fascinated by how the utterly mundane snippets of humanity could be sensationalized by putting them on a TV show. They must teach that in journalism schools, he thinks.

He quickly throws on some clothes, well Dean’s clothes, and rushes back to his room, heading immediately to the little table that holds the TV. And stops. The TV is gone! Frantically, he looks around, as if it is something that he has misplaced. Like a pair of slippers. Resisting the urge to look under the bed, nonetheless, he storms out to the library to seek answers. 

“Dean! Sam! The TV! It’s gone! The TV is gone! Have you seen it? Oh, where could it go?” He looks around the library, squinting at the bookcase, as if the TV has absconded from his room and is hiding there. 

Dean and Sam share a look. After a mental game of rock, paper, scissors (they know Dean will lose anyway) Dean speaks up. “Cas! Cas, calm down!” He begins nervously, as Cas gapes at him like a fish out of water. “Actually, um, we, that is, Sam needed the TV in his room, and so he asked me to move it from your room to his” Mentally, he pats himself on the back – nice way to throw Sam under the bus there. The expression on Cas’ face changes, like storm clouds gathering on the front, into his _I will smite you until you are a wisp of smoke rising from your shoes_ face as he turns towards Sam.

Sam clears his throat nervously, “Um, yeah, so, I needed, uh… that is I have to… there is a documentary on axe murderers that they are running everyday this week, you know, like, Shark Week, and I need to watch it, like, um, for research…er and stuff…so….” He trails off as Cas continues to glare at him as if Sam is the school bully who just picked on the nerd in glasses.

Sam knew this was a bad, bad idea. He looks at Dean, who is not even trying to hide his delight at this turn of events. Can’t have that, big brother. Then Sam has a light bulb moment. “Uh, Cas, maybe Dean will lend you his laptop. It doesn’t have Netflix, but you could, I don’t know, read? Or play games! Solitaire! Maybe Chess? You’d, like, beat the computer every single time, right?” He finishes proudly, and the expression on Dean’s face as Cas turns his SmiteFace No.3 towards him is just icing on the cake. 

Dean quickly agrees. “Sure, uh sure, of course! Mi laptop es su laptop! Heh!” He does have a smidgen of self-preservation instinct left, not that the Winchesters were handed that out in abundance. Looks - yeah, sex appeal - muchos, bravado - exponential, self-preservation – not so much. Otherwise they would never have parted an angel from his Netflix.

 

************

 

Back in his room with the laptop, Cas stares at the screen as if it personally offended him. He has no idea what he is supposed to “read”. It isn’t as if there is any reading material on Dean’s laptop anyway, that is to say, none. He attempts a couple of games of Solitaire but they don’t hold his interest. He plays a few rounds of chess, but the computer keeps losing, and Cas gives up when he finds he can predict every move the computer is going to make before he even begins a game. It feels a little bit like cheating, he considers. When you have been an ace strategist for Heaven over millennia, it is just unfair to expect a barely invented machine to challenge him.

Bored out of his wits, he clicks on Google. He remembers something about it having an answer to everything. Well, he certainly needs some answers. He just isn’t sure what the question is, exactly. Maybe this Google can tell him that, he thinks sourly.

When the page opens, it is surprisingly simple. A box with a blinking line, expectantly waiting for him to type in his quest, so that it can fulfill its purpose of finding his answers. Much like Cas himself, really, a…a tool, waiting for its instruction, its command, so that it may perform.

But that is not a thought process he feels like following right now, so he dejectedly types in the one word that is both the most puzzling question as well as the only truly complete answer to his existence.

 

Dean.

 

And he presses enter. What appears is a slew of information links that make no sense. And apparently, there are 395,000,000 results found.

Cas makes a frustrated sound, and rolls his eyes. Even he knows that while Dean is great, and good, and righteous, not ALL of those results would be about him. Maybe half, but definitely not all.

He thinks, “Maybe if I try my name instead. I am insignificant enough that the number of results may be small enough. Perhaps none at all, even, but worth a try.” So he starts typing

 

Cas

 

And the box brings up some suggestions!

 

Castiel

Cas and Dean

Castiel and Dean

Castiel angel

 

And Cas freezes. Cas and Dean? Castiel and Dean? There is something about those names together that compels him to click the suggestion.

He looks at the screen in amazement. There are actually pages and pages, over 20 million of them in fact, which seem to have Castiel's and Dean’s names together! And most of those seem to be on something called [www.archiveofourown.org](http://www.archiveofourown.org). Seeing the word “archive” he figures it must be someone chronicling the trio's hunting exploits over the years, of which there have certainly been many. It makes him curious to see what people have written about their actions, about Dean and Sam’s heroic deeds, and the stupidity of the angel called Castiel, and… No! He clicks on the first result, hoping to cut short the train of thought.

Many, many days later Cas will look back to this one-second in time and be forever grateful to his Father. For that one momentous decision to CLICK. Because if not for that, none of the events that unfolded would even have seen the light of day.


	2. Atchhoooo!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How strange is strange? 
> 
> And at the risk of sounding repetitious: "What is happening?!"

Now, the thing with Castiel, is that he is an Angel.

A weakened, lack luster version of one, but an angel nonetheless.

So while some of his powers have diminished, or even disappeared altogether, some have become harder to control. His power of imagination, for example, has become amazingly…vivid.

 

*************

 

Dean is fast asleep when a sound wakes him. A sound he never, ever thought he would hear in the bunker. Ever. Never ever. He is immediately on alert, because only something supernatural could have caused that sound to manifest in the bunker. He grabs his trusted ivory-handled Colt 1911 from under the pillow, and steps out of his room, cautiously looking around for the intruder. He moves down the corridor towards the library, which seems to be the source of this particular noise. It seems to be originating from under the map table, and in one swift move, the hunter crouches down, pointing the gun at the threat.

 

A ginger kitten looks at him from under the table, and eloquently mewls, “Meeooow?” 

 

Dean tries to get up so fast that he bumps his head on the edge of the table. As he is rubbing the sore spot, the kitten saunters nonchalantly out, confident that a giant stupid enough to bump his head during a hunt is not a threat. As his eyes follow the kitten’s path through the library, Dean blinks to clear his vision.

 

Then blinks again, thinking, “I’m seeing things!” He might have blamed it on the bump on the head but for the fact that he is pretty sure the bump came AFTER the kitten.

 

The kitten is meowing and sniffing around the chairs in the library, when it is answered by three more voices, one from under the chair, one from the kitchen and the third from the top shelf of the bookcase! Dean is sure that he is dreaming. Then he sneezes.

And sneezes again. “Can your allergies take effect in your dreams?” He wonders. Hysterically, he mutters, “Hallelujah! Its raining cats!” 

As one, all four cats of assorted colours and sizes turn with a singular purpose towards the corridor leading to the dormitories. They move towards the room between Dean’s and Sam’s, and enlightenment dawns bright and sudden. “CAS! CAS!” Dean all but roars! And he would have, truly, if he weren’t sneezing his nose off his face.

 

What actually comes out is “CA…AAAthchhoo!”

 

Cas opens the door sleepily, and he looks so adorable with his sleep mussed hair and squinty eyes that for a minute Dean forgets what he was going to say. He forgets the cats, and allergies, until another violent sneeze brings him back to the present. 

Cas is doing his puzzled head-tilt-squity-eyed look, trying to figure out what the heck Dean was doing shouting his head off in the middle of the night.

 

Dean gestures vaguely towards the cats in between sneezes. “What…is…this?”

 

Cas turns his head to where Dean is pointing. The transformation from sleepy to googly eyes is instantaneous. If his eyes were any wider, or if this was one of those cartoons Cas enjoyed so much, Dean would expect Cas’ eyes to be comically rolling across the floor. He looks from the cats to Dean and back a few times, like a spectator at a tennis match. And then melts…literally melts into this syrupy fond look as he crouches down between the assorted felines.

 

The blue of his eyes goes infinitely brighter as they shimmer in the light of the hallway. He looks at Dean and says, tremulously, “Th..thank you, Dean! I love them!”

 

“What?! No! I mean, no.. I didn’t… I don’t… that is… You’re welcome, Cas!” Dean sputters awkwardly.

 

Yeah, yeah, so colour him coward, but there is _no way_ that Dean was going to be responsible for wiping that expression from Cas’ face. Okay, so he’d just have to head to the pharmacy in the morning for some Claritine because apparently they were the proud owners of four cats.

Four unexplained, unaccounted for cats.

As Dean turned towards his own bedroom, he saw Sam watching this exchange from the doorway of his room, with a mile wide grin on his face, and all Dean could do was point his finger at Sam and say, “Not a word! Not a bloody word!”

Which would have been appropriately threatening and menacing if each word was not punctuated by a sneeze.

  

*************

 

So a number of days pass, with Dean in Claritine induced congeniality, Cas in feline induced rapture, and Sam, well Sam just being all smug and self-satisfied, really.

 

But in this world, all good things must pass.

 

And so Cas, while still enamored, of course, by the cats (much to Dean’s secretly guarded jealousy) finds the need to return to the joys of his favorite website – archiveofourown.org.

 

You see, that first look at the website and its contents surprised Cas. Did people really look at him and Dean in _that_ way? Really? During the first few days of reading he has felt many things. Surprise, certainly. And he clearly remembers the hot blush spreading across his face when he read some of the activities that the fictitious Dean and Cas got up to. And the physical reactions of his vessel in other aspects are not lost on him, either. But over the last few days, his reading has begun to induce in him a curious longing, which feels bone deep and continuous. It causes an ache in his heart and his breath shortens to gasps when it becomes too much to bear.

 

The night the cats appeared, Cas had been reading one of the fan fictions. He now knows what they are called, of course. They are stories written by people, well, fans, of the Winchester Gospels. People with highly vivid imaginations and access to a laptop or computer. The Castiel in this particular version had been a caretaker in an animal shelter who worked with cats. That persona resonated strongly with Cas and he was delighted that just when he had been feeling melancholy about cats, Dean had as always understood what he needed and gifted him not one but four of the animals!

 

Pulling himself back to the present, Cas logged in to the AO3 website, and browsed through the works in anticipation. He wondered what new delights awaited him tonight.


	3. If wishes were Guinea Pigs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a guinea pig, as promised!   
> *  
> *  
> *  
> And other little things....
> 
> SAM POV - because he totally ships it

 

 

Sam glances at the silent corridor as he gently shuts his bedroom door, dressed in his running gear. Dean and Cas are likely still sleeping from their late night movie marathon, or as Dean calls it, the Essential Encyclopedia to Re-educate Angels in Pop Culture Magically Given to Them by Bastard Scribes of God. Last night’s edition was an incisive study of Indiana Jones. Smiling at the memory of the two of them curled up on the couch, sharing a bowl of popcorn, with cats Ai, AiAi, AiAiAi and AiVee spread all across their laps, Sam lets himself out of the bunker and into the fresh dawn air.

 

Sam has been feeling fairly content these last couple of weeks. They saved Cas. Got rid of the Darkness AND Lucifer. Specially Lucifer! Sam shudders at the thought that he might have said Yes to Lucifer out of desperation, and silently thanks Cas for once again saving their sorry asses. He had been as equally shocked as Dean when they discovered that Cas had agreed to Lucifer possessing his vessel, but he did have a more objective view about it than did Dean. He recognized the motivation Cas may have had, because he has had a front row seat to the multi-part opera that is the Saga of Castiel & Dean Winchester. And astute audience of one that he is, he has observed the longing looks each gave the other when they think they are unobserved. He had at times cringed at the brusqueness with which his brother treated Cas, but had also been witness to how he moped when Cas was absent or his whereabouts unknown.

 

These recent days in the bunker have been all the more pleasant to Sam because it is the first time in a long time that Dean was so relaxed. His cocky grin comes effortlessly and the weight of the past few years seems to be lifted from his shoulders. Of course, Sam recognizes that apart from no impending apocalyptic disasters, a major contributory factor is the permanent presence of Cas in the bunker.

 

In all modesty, Sam in his all knowing, um knowledge, hopes that the two of them would get over that final hurdle and _confess_ how they feel about each other. And of course, inform Sam in advance so he can be miles away before the, uh, fireworks start. There can never be enough brain bleach should he witness any results of 8 years of pining between his brother and his best friend being finally resolved.

 

Immersed in these pleasant musings, interrupted by blissful patches of absence of thought, Sam completes his usual circuit and returns to the bunker. He is greeted by the cache of cats, who nuzzle at his feet, as if they have a wager on which one of them will be successful in tripping him first.

 

Humming a non-specific tune, Sam makes his way to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge before heading to the showers. He switches on the light in the kitchen, and AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

 

He did NOT scream. Sam fucking Winchester does NOT scream.

 

He just yells in a manly manner, like Tarzan.

 

And Sam Winchester definitely does _not_ scream at the sight of a rodent. Because right there, sitting on the kitchen counter is a guinea pig, all white and brown, with beady eyes looking at him, head tilted expectantly in anticipation of what, Sam is hard put to explain.

Sam expects the cats to come to his rescue of course. Why have cats if they won’t rise to the occasion and save their human from errant rodents, really? But of course, they are nowhere to be seen, startled away by his scream…er his manly Tarzan-like yell. 

He rushes out of the kitchen, on his way to wake Dean, when he stops short in the library. How did he not notice her when he came in? And more to the point, who is she??

Because there in the middle of the library, is the cutest little girl he has ever seen. Her blond-brown hair falling in soft curls, hiding her face as she bends down to look at something under a chair. Sam moves back a step, banging into a chair, because lets be honest, at one point in time, even Lilith had been a cute little girl.

 

The noise makes the little girl straighten up, and she looks at him with wide, innocent eyes, eyes that are a _very_ familiar blue. He tries to say something, anything, but what emerges sounds more like garbled Enochian.

 

“Hughrfmble…” Might be a good idea to pick your jaw off the floor, Sam, he thinks to himself.

 

Just as he is composing himself to ask a coherent question, the little girl rushes to him and latches onto his legs in a hug!

 

“Unca Sam!! Unca Sam! Have you seen Ollie? I losted him and now I can’t find him ANYWHERE!” The excited chatter rises in volume.

 

Sam, of course, is still stuck on the “Unca Sam” bit…

 

So his contribution to this conversation is an eloquent, “Huh?!”

 

He realises he may need to do better than that. “Who are you? Who is Ollie?” He manages.

 

The girl gazes up at him adoringly, “Unca Sam, you’re _funny_!”

 

And she rushes towards the dorms, shouting “Daddy! Papa! Unca Sam is back! And Ollie is losted. Wake up! WAKKUP!”

 

Sam follows her, still totally lost and thinking maybe he never went for a run at all. Maybe he is still in bed, dreaming.

 

But nope, that hope is dashed when Dean and Cas both emerge from their respective rooms, rubbing sleep out of their eyes.

 

“What is it, Sammy?” He follows Sam’s gaze downwards and does a double take. “Who is this?”

 

But the little girl, unstoppable force that she is, collides forcefully into Dean’s legs, “Papa! I losted Ollie!” She sniffles.

 

It is a testament to Dean’s parenting instincts that he lifts her up without hesitation, wiping the tears from her eyes before his action registers with his brain. He stops. He looks at her. He looks at Sam. “Papa?!” He questions incredulously.

 

“Grace?!” Comes a soft whisper from behind them, in a very gravelly voice. They both swivel as one towards the speaker. They find Cas staring at the little girl, with a look of adoration mixed with joy on his face.

 

“Daddy!” Grace shimmies out of Dean’s arms, and runs straight into Cas’ embrace. He crouches down to gather her in his arms, and hugs her close, before looking up at the brothers in alarm.


	4. An Act of Grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter... Next one is almost ready and I promise Dean/Cas talk coming in that one.
> 
> Also I am total Destiel trash so am eagerly waiting for the season finale because I choose to believe that SOME form of Destiel will happen - the actors have been very very uncharacteristically open about it at JibCon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had been waiting for the fic that I wanted to reference in this one to be updated so I could use it but it looks like the author has abandoned it, so I am winging it on my own imagination for this bit...

If Sam were to look at their lives objectively, he would concede that the Life and Times of Sam&Dean Winchester would warrant a 24 hour TV channel à la The Truman Show. This moment though, this feels like a scene out of the Twilight Zone.. or an episode of Punk’d. If it were a plausible scenario, he’d be looking around for hidden cameras right now, because there are a few candidates for shenanigans like that - Gabriel, Balthazar, even to an extent Crowley (because really, one must have a sense of humour THAT twisted to become the King of Hell, right?)

Seeing as there seems to be a distinct lack of any of those at this moment in time, he is left with no choice but to gape at the tableau in front of him.

To whit, stage right: Cas, Castiel, Angel Of The Lord, newly almost-humanised, kneeling on the floor holding on to a little blond-haired, blue-eyed bundle of adorableness, looking like the proverbial cat who got caught stealing the cream.  
Stage left: one brother, elder, minus a jaw - because it is somewhere in the vicinity of the floor, waiting expectantly for a stampede of elephants to pass through.  
And, himself, of course - feeling more awkward than he had when they were zapped to that TV show reality where he was married to NotRuby and had a herd of alpacas.

Also, perhaps the only one with enough wits about him to actually vocalise. “Um…” Perhaps, not so much then. Let’s try this again, shall we? “Huh?”

Sam is quite certain that he is a gifted communicator - ask any of the thousands of witnesses and sundry “victims” he has interrogated over the years. Barring a few (and you can’t really blame him, that was the year he had no soul, so there’s that) they would all vouch for the fact that the giant FBI guy who questioned them was actually a pussy cat. So this speechlessness bug he seems to have caught since this morning is a new, and horrifying experience.

Like a marathon runner pushing himself at the last leg of a 10km race, he fights against the weight of dumbfounded astonishment and bravely questions, “What…? How…? Who….?”

Finally admitting that one word sentences seem to be the only option right now, he resigns himself to, “Cas?”

Cas is still wearing the “deer in the headlights” look about him, looking from one Winchester to the other like a spectator at a tennis match. Settling his gaze on them, he sighs resignedly, and stands up, holding the little girl close, and slightly behind him, as if protecting her. He holds his hands up placatingly, “Look, I can explain…”

“Yes, please, do!” Hearing the angel speak, Dean seems to find his voice. He really can’t be blamed if it comes out like a squeak, but he has just had a little angel barge into him calling him her father, he is allowed a little freak-out.

Cas uncharacteristically, clears his throat. “I think…I think this is my daughter, Grace”

Dean, of course, resorts to his best defence when he’s nervous, and quip, “You think? We kinda got that when she called you Daddy, Captain Obvious!” He conveniently leaves out the bit where she called him “Papa” too, because he’s not touching that one with a Sam holding a ten-foot Pole.

Cas looks pained at the sarcasm, wishing perhaps for a time when he did’t understand half of the pop culture references Dean came up with. He looks down at Grace and smiles, as if reassuring himself that she really is there, and then his face takes on a calm, decisive look, reminding them of the days when he was still an angel in all his glory.

“I believe this is my daughter… I don’t know how she is here in this present moment in time, or how she got here, but I don't detect any kind of spells or temporal fractures, so I don’t think that this is a time-line issue or an alternate reality kind of scenario. However, I recognise some traces of my grace in her. And she also has.. has.. uh..” Cas came to a sudden stop, as if realising what he was about to admit might no be the best idea he ever had. He looks at Dean, almost fearfully, and continues, “Sheseemstoalsohaveatraceofyoursoul” Suddenly he finds himself making a thorough study of his toes, perhaps a millennia or two devoted to those fascinating appendages may be enough to avoid looking into what he knows will be a set of angry and accusing green eyes. His research is interrupted, however, by an insistent tugging on his pyjama pants, and a stage whisper loud enough to be heard in Canada..or perhaps India even.

“Daddy! Daddy! What about Ollie? I can’t find him anywhere.”

Something clicks in Sam’s head. “Ollie? Is this Ollie a pet guinea pig by any chance?” He asks the little girl.

She nods enthusiastically. “Of course Unca Sammy! Daddy brought him for my birthday, don’t you remember?”

Sam winks at her knowingly, “Of course I do! And I know just where to find him. Come on, let’s go catch your Ollie!” And so the great, brave hunter who has never run away from a fight with any monster, demon or angel to walk the earth, takes a convenient exit from this situation, hoping his departure will result in some seriously overdue conversation between the two idiots in front of him. Or bloodshed, it could go either way at this point, judging by the dark glare Dean’s throwing his way.

****************

In the sudden silence of the corridor out side the rooms, Dean & Cas looks at each other.

Hesitant and nervous blue met confused and inquiring green. And stuck. Because, lets face it, that’s how it has been from the first moment that the angel looked at the hunter and said “What is the matter, Dean? You think you don’t deserve to be saved.” Not that Dean would ever admit it, but he has been falling into those blue depths without quite realising it, and now it feels odder if they AREN’T staring for at least 5 minutes at a stretch. In fact, that may have been one of his first clues when Lucifer tried to pass himself off as Cas. He never really held Dean’s gaze.

“Dean…”

 

“Cas…”

They both began at the same time, and stopped.

“Look…” “Look…” 

This was beginning to feel like two commuters trying to get on the bus at the same time, and getting stuck in the doorway.

Dean held his palm out, indicating to Cas to continue.

“Dean,” Cas began nervously, “I…” He really didn’t know how to say what he wanted to say. He would be the first to admit that English was a very limiting language, but at this moment he felt that all the languages of the world combined did not have enough vocabulary to express what he needed to.

Weakly, admitting defeat in the face of convoluted lexicons, Cas settled for “You first.” Conveniently giving the floor to the hunter and the million questions making his aura vibrate so much Cas’s head was beginning to hurt.

Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if unsure of where to begin. He seemed to look up for assistance from a higher power, before finally settling on asking “Ok, Cas, What’s going on? How is this little girl here? And dude, your daughter?” He pauses for a moment, the absence of Sam making him a bit bolder. “ _Our_ daughter?!!”

“Level with me, Cas! Because I’m telling you, this has happened to me twice before, finding out I had a kid who was all grown up, but there was a very…. physical explanation for both those instances. And I am fairly certain that there isn’t one for this one!”

Cas winces visibly at the certainty in Dean’s voice, the certainty that any relationship between the two of them is an impossibility. He has known of course, Dean has always been clear about it - he _needs_ Cas. But then need is such a variable term isn’t it. One _needs_ lavatory paper when one defecates as well, and it is indeed a very urgent and undeniable need. So to place any weightage on “need” is futile. How can this Righteous Man, this wonderful soul ever see anything else, anything _more_ , in a broken and useless angel, who has lost the only thing that made him need-worthy, useful. Perhaps, it is the human part of him then, that wishes, hopes for some form of validation as an individual, as some _one_ , rather than some _thing_. 

Of course, hopes are well known for being shattered.

So Cas looks up at Dean, and resolutely answers him. “I don’t know, Dean. I truly don’t know how this little girl came to be here. All I can say with certainty is that Grace carries a little bit of my grace and your soul in her, and the only likelihood of that happening is if she is our child, therefore I came to the conclusion that she must be my…our…daughter. Apart from that, I’m afraid I really don’t have any answer for you.”

Dean lets out an exasperated sigh, not sure if he is annoyed, frustrated or just plain mad. Apart from being immediately suspicious of course. As a hunter, disbelief is his natural response to unexplained circumstances. If it wasn’t, there would be a headstone in some cemetery with his name on it that read, “The hunter who believed..ROTFL” And more than Cas’s resigned response to the situation, because well, Cas, Dean is even more flabbergasted by Sam’s easy acceptance of the little girl…Grace, AND her guinea pig for crying out loud! He feels displaced and disoriented, but not literally - he knows what actually being displaced in time and space feels like, a side effect of angels zapping him to and fro across time-lines and realities - just different. 

He decides he needs a drink. This is too much to process on a good day, forget ass-o-clock in the AM when decent folks should still be in bed, and would be if health-obsessed Sasquatches and pig-tailed little girls didn't keep popping out of the wood-work. Storming into the kitchen, his intention had been to head straight for the beer, but unbidden, his feet freeze at the doorway, arrested by the sight of his brother, the giant, long haired yeti, on his knees, being ridden around like the clunkiest pony on earth by Grace - apparently his daughter - _his daughter_! and somewhere in the background of his mind, as if this were a friggin’ Lifetime movie, a million violins begin to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, comments are the life line of no-talent authors like me (blatant comment-fishing there) so please let me know your thoughts.
> 
> More importantly, is ANY of this humour making sense to you?
> 
> I love you like Jensen loves Misha <3<3<3


	5. Deja Who?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update! Life tends to get in the way, and despite wanting to write this so so much, things got on top of me, and a lack of time between work and being single mum to 2 ate up my time! Also gishwhes, but that's got me vacillating between wanting to murder Misha Collins or marry him and have his babies, so let's just say I had fun! Many encouraging messages goaded me to make time to finish telling this story, so here I am.
> 
> I am not getting a lot of time to research more fics I would have liked to include in this, so I think I will work on bringing a resolution to the story we have so far. 
> 
> Also your comments keep me keeping on... so don't stop!!
> 
> Also I am a bit of a grammar Nazi but I have not proof-read this more than once so if there are any glaring errors or typos do let me know!
> 
> And apparently we are required to put a disclaimer re copyright, so the usual one goes here. "All of the characters belong to the CW network, Supernatural and Erik Kripke", except in my imagination their activities are slightly different than on the show. Ok so "slightly" may be an understatement. More along the lines of pizza-men and errant plumbers.
> 
> Dean/Cas POV on events ...

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, has been around for millennia. He has seen the universe blink and galaxies form, has walked the earth when the first fish crawled out of the oceans, stormed the depths of Hell and won, fought the wars of Heaven and emerged victorious. But as he stands in the corridor of the bunker that he has hesitantly begun calling home, he feels a sense of foreboding weighing down his shoulders. Will this be the last straw for Dean? Is this where he asks, again, that Castiel leave the bunker? Will he himself be able to withstand the banishment a second time? He realises he doesn’t want to wait for that to happen. He should definitely preserve the little smidgen on self-respect left in his shattered self, and leave, of his own volition. Dean was quite confident when he negated the possibility of any relationship between the two of them. Castiel knows this. Has always known this. Through all the years of watching as Dean picked up countless women in random bars, being a silent observer to the life he tried to to build with Lisa Braeden, a life that Castiel feels responsible for ruining, he has known this. Because despite the fact that the things he did then were to allow Dean to continue in that apple-pie life he always desired, the circumstances created by those actions are what was responsible for putting the mother and son in danger. An action that prompted Dean to ask Castiel to wipe their memories to keep them safe. He is, after all, by his very nature, created to be an observer. Castiel, Angel of Thursday, of Solitude and Tears, Observer of Humanity.

Not for the first time, Castiel ruminates on whether he should have chosen a different vessel, a female vessel. He remembers how fast Dean had accepted Anna, how comfortably he was able to… But Castiel is attached to this vessel, this body, which is his, now, Jimmy having been sent to his rightful Heaven when Raphael obliterated this body for the first time. He identifies as this body, and would feel displaced if he saw a different face in the mirror now. He doesn’t know how long he has been standing there lost in thought when a nudge by one of the cats brings him out of his reverie. He bends down to scratch the cat under its ears, and finds a burning in his eyes as he realises that he will lose these little creatures who he has come to adore in the short few days he has been with them.

Steeling himself, he gets up and resolutely walks into his room to begin packing the few worldly possessions he owns, hurrying to pre-empt the inevitable ejection command he knows he will be facing soon.

************

Let’s get this clear. Dean Winchester does not watch chick flicks. He does not do chick flicks moments. He definitely has never cried at Lifetime movies. He has no idea what they are. If his life had a background soundtrack, it would be a toss up between Zeppelin and AC/DC. These violins playing in his head have no business being there. That would explain why there are tears in his eyes right now. At the sheer injustice of the choice of music his brain is producing right now. It is most definitely, absolutely, NOT because of the peels of laughter emanating from the little doll riding around on BigFoot.

Something about the sight in front of him pulls at the strings in his heart though. A tug, not entirely unfamiliar, that he has felt before. When he thought Ben was his son. When Emma walked up to his motel room and asked him to save her. A hope, that perhaps his life can be fuller. He felt a sense of responsibility that he enjoyed, perhaps because his entire life, he has been parental. From the age of four, he has been a parent to Sam. He recalls the joy of that first smile, the sense of accomplishment at his first step, his first words. He never got that with Ben or Emma because they both came into his life when they were grown past that age. But he looks at this little girl now, and feels a strange sense of ownership. He wants to know her, to know her first smile, her first word. He imagines her reaching out to him as she takes her first wobbly steps. Of singing Hey Jude when putting her to bed. Of making tomato rice soup when she is unwell. He sees her. He doesn’t realise that he has closed his eyes to imagine the scene unfold on the screen of his eyelids, until he sees the person on the other end across the room. He sees not one, but two pairs of blue eyes looking towards him.

Wait, what? 

Wait just a frikkin’ second. Stop right there. He tells whoever may be responsible for this. Have you even read my bio? I’m Dean Winchester. I’m an aquarius. I love frisky women. Does it say anywhere, anything about angels? Male-bodied angels? Exactly. Dean to Delusional author: Houston, we have a problem. 

He is about to turn right around and go sulk in the library at the unfairness of the world in conspiring against him, when the heroine of this saga sees him and calls out, “Papa!” Thus proving that Dean Winchester CAN BE defeated. You just need the right weapon.

“Gr…Grace. Hey little one!” He ventures cautiously. 

He can feel Sam’s eyes on him, but is too chicken to return his look. How can he explain this sense of familiarity he feels for this child? Perhaps it is because she carries a trace of his soul, like Cas said. They definitely need to research these strange happenings in the bunker to figure out what new apocalypse is rolling towards them. 

“Papa, Unca Sam founded Ollie!” Grace excitedly tells him. “I’m gonna put him back in his cage, so he can’t run away ‘gain.” She jumps off of Sam’s back, and still tenderly holding her guinea pig, skips away towards the library.

Sam looks at Dean, an eyebrow arched in question. “Well? What’s happening?”

Dean shrugs in answer. “Cas says she has a trace of both, his grace and my soul, but he has no idea how she came to be here. He says the only explanation is that she may be, um, our, um, his…our daughter. Like, his and mine! ”

“So, what, you guys are like angel married or something and you failed to invite your own brother?” Sam is building up to deploy his bitch-face mode. 

Dean gapes at him, “Dude!” He splutters.

Sam’s not having any of it, though. “No, seriously, Dean, can you think of another explanation? You guys have been eye-fucking so much over the past 8 years, maybe this girl is the result of that. All that energy from so much UST has accumulated into creating this child.”

Dean’s got to put a stop to this before the jolly giant gets too explicit with his theories. “We aren’t angel married, you think I would get married without my little Sammy being the Maid of Honour? Also, what’s UST? And I do not “eye-fuck”! What the hell are you talking about, Sam?”

Sam sighs at the blind fool that is his brother, and gets up off the floor. Dusting his knees, he looks up at Dean and says, “Never mind. Lets just try and figure out what is going on. There has to be an explanation for all this. Maybe the darkness is still around? Playing with our heads or something.”

Dean agrees readily. “Yep, hit those books, Unca Sam!” He smirks. This may be the best way to deflect Sam from entertaining those… ideas he mentioned earlier. Dean needed that reprieve to sort out what his brain had thrown up in his imagination, and until he had that confrontation with himself, he wasn’t ready to talk to either Sam or Cas. “I’m going on a beer run. You better have some answers by the time I come back, li’l brother!” He declared, picking up the keys to the Impala and making an exit before Sam can contradict him.

Settling himself into the driver’s seat of his Baby calms Dean down immediately. He takes a deep breath, turns the ignition and lets the rumble of the Impala soothe the frayed edges of his nerves. “Okay, I can deal with this.” He tells himself, putting the car in gear and pulling out of the bunker’s garage.

********************


End file.
